


Smile

by Glenorama



Category: Finder no Hyouteki | Finder Series
Genre: Human Trafficking, M/M, Original Character(s), Rivalry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-15
Updated: 2015-05-20
Packaged: 2018-03-01 13:49:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2775359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glenorama/pseuds/Glenorama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Smiles are dangerous things.  It wasn’t difficult to figure out the correlation between the smiles and the unspoken words and hidden agendas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Everything has a beginning

**Author's Note:**

> I really should have been studying for finals, but I couldn't stop reading fanfics. And then this happened.

Smiles.

They are terrifying things. People who always smile, more so. He had learned early on not to trust them. After all, he had not climbed the ranks by remaining naïve. It wasn’t difficult to figure out the correlation between the smiles and the unspoken words and hidden agendas.

At seven, from the dark hallway, he watched his mother screaming as she beat her fists against his father as he stoically weathered the blows. _“Why?”_ she cried. _“Why am I not good enough?”_

 _“I don’t know,”_ came the hollow response.

His mother released an angry, despairing wail, wrenching away from her husband, tears and mucus running down her reddened face. He shrunk back into the shadows, as she ran out of the kitchen, but it was too late. She had caught sight of him.

“ _Ryuichi,”_ she breathed, crouching down and wrapping a hand around his wrist tightly. Her rouged lips curved into a smile meant to soothe, but instead, it only left a cold lump of fear in the pit of his stomach as he stared into her eyes. Eyes that were half crazed and desperate.

“ _Is Papa leaving?”_ he whispered.

He watched as her smile widened and madness crept into her features. “ _No, no, of course not,”_ she cooed, stroking his dark locks. “ _Papa won’t leave. Mama will make everything alright.”_

But that was a lie, he realized, as he stood in his pajamas the next morning while strangers traipsed through his house, extracting his parents’ corpses.

In the next few months following his father’s murder and mother’s suicide, there was a flood of smiles as the adults reassured him that they all wanted such a well-behaved child while they bickered over who was to bear the responsibility of caring for him when they thought he was out of earshot. But he heard them and the hushed gossip. _Bad blood. Troublesome. Another mouth to feed. But the inheritance._

At 10, after being passed around from relative to relative, he found himself living with a distant cousin. A black sheep, if he recalled. But unlike the others, she was brusque and sharp-tongued, and she worked odd hours as a nurse. Exhaustion seemed to follow her. There were hard lines framing her mouth, the skin drawn taut by her sleep-deprived eyes, marring her otherwise pretty face. But he supposed he liked her well enough. They never said much to each other, but on one rare occasion after dinner he had cooked, she was particularly talkative. “ _Humans are fucked-up creatures. We say one thing and mean the other. We can’t stand having someone else being better. People will try to clip each other’s wings, as they struggle to claw their way to the top. They’ll break and manipulate you if they can.”_ She inhaled her cigarette deeply. _“Don’t let others define you, Ryuichi. Set the rules yourself. But you’re just a kid so you have to play the game for now. Get into a good college and make something of yourself so if anyone says otherwise, you can stand on your two legs and crush them.”_ It made sense to him.

At 12, he had risen to the top of his class, and puberty had deepened his voice and filled out his tall frame. He began drawing the gaze of the opposite sex.

At 14, he discovered that he had a knack for investing. Between the money he earned from tutoring and his allowance, he funneled it away in investments. Upon learning his side hobby, his cousin began leaving small sums on a regular basis to encourage his habit.

At 15, he began smoking his cousin’s Dunhills which only added to the impression of mystery and danger he had cultivated. Girls flocked around him with their heavily mascaraed eyes and glossy, coquettish smiles. They would run their painted nails casually down his muscled arm, rest their soft hands on top of his, bracelets jangling. They were fascinated with his cold façade. They vied for his attention, wanting to be the girlfriend of the school president, top student, and president of the archery club if only for a moment. They would do anything for him.

At 16, he noticed that he didn’t just attract girls, but he felt the heated stare of some of the boys, one in particular. The youth would flush and smile crookedly at him, licking his lips. At 17, he found himself in a secluded classroom with said boy, pants unbuckled and unzipped, embedded in a tight heat better than any girl he had fucked before. It was quick and dirty as the boy rode him hard and fast to completion. Catching his breath, the boy leaned in close. “ _Hey, we can do this again if you do me a little favor.”_ Asami’s golden eyes narrowed. “ _Don’t look like that,”_ he laughed, wagging his phone mockingly. “ _You can afford to give a little help. And ‘sides, I’ve got a memento of us if you need a bit of an incentive.”_ A week later, the boy mysteriously withdrew from the school.

At 22, he had graduated from the most prestigious university in the nation. He had mastered the fine balance between push and pull, the right amount of reward and punishment that would have anyone helpless to obey his every command, beg for his favor. He had learned the ways of the game, and was now establishing his own rules and connections, laying the groundwork for his empire. But it was that year, he also learned what sadness truly was as he buried the woman that had cared for him for over a decade. She had worked herself to an early death. Along with his inheritance from his long deceased parents, he received everything she had left behind, her whole life-savings. With them, he began building up his business, determined to honor her words from so many years ago, and climb all the way to the top, even if it meant his throne would sit upon those obstacles who he exterminated.

By 35, Asami Ryuichi thought he knew better. He had made himself into the unofficial ruler of Japan. The underworld bowed to him, the politicians cowered in front of him, and lovers came and left as quickly as water through a sieve. There was no man or woman or desire that he could not obtain. His word was law, detachment and apathy, his way of life. He was as wary as ever of smiles, and yet, he could not help but be transfixed by that damned photographer, who defied him at every turn, refusing to yield even when he was losing. Spitting fire, with hazel eyes that burned with a passion for everything and anything, the boy ignited unfamiliar feelings within him. His full lips were quick to curve upwards to convey his pleasure, and just as quick to tip downwards in an irritated scowl, all emotions displayed for the world to see. But most of the time, his face was split in a grin, reflecting his exuberance for life. And it unnerved Asami—because he wanted those smiles in all their varying shades directed at him.

Yes. Takaba Akihito was the most dangerous and terrifying creature.


	2. Domestication

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the lovely feedback. Makes typing on a phone at the airport worth it. All credits to Yamane Ayano for gifting us plebeians this couple.

One would never accuse a man of Asami's caliber of thinking with his dick. However, the thought briefly crossed Asami's mind unbidden before he brutally squashed it. That was nonsense. Admittedly, sex with the boy was undoubtedly fantastic, but he had had slept with a fair share of individuals well-versed in the art of pleasure for it to be the sole reason he had manipulated the cheeky brat into living with him. The photographer was amusing to say the least, with his declarations of being the provider in their convoluted relationship--his only admission that they shared something--and his innocently foolish outlook of the world that was refreshing to one as jaded as Asami. Originally he had been entertained, much as one with a new toy, pushing all of his buttons and observing his reactions, but now he coolly reasoned that he had invested too much in his little pet to let it go.

Asami unlocked his penthouse door which swung open with a little electronic beep and was just about to toe off his patented Italian shoes until his gaze fell upon a mop of unruly dirty blonde hair.

"Welcome home," Akihito greeted from his prostrated position from the floor. He met his questioning stare with a sheepish grin. "So...there was kind of a little accident." He lithely sprang to his feet and trotted to the living room, glancing back to see if he was following.

Asami's line of sight rested on the pile of porcelain pieces that had once been a giant vase. His gaze flickered swiftly over Akihito, accessing any possible injuries, satisfied there was none. Vaguely, he heard Akihito nervously ask about the price, but frankly he didn't give a damn. The vase had been hideous, but he didn't have the time nor interest to renovate the decor. If Akihito wanted to, then by all means he could, and he told the boy as much.

Akihito looked taken aback, seemingly startled by the magnanimity.  Clearly he had been expecting punishment, and Asami wasn’t offended. He knew he wasn't anywhere close to being gentle man. But Akihito quickly recovered and his face split into a radiant smile. "Ah, I just took a bath. The water is still warm. I'll go get it ready for you."

He scampered off towards their shared bathroom, and less than ten minutes later, Asami relaxed in the bathtub. The boy had been oddly compliant, and his good cheer made him suspicious.  _Is this a tactic to lower my guard so he can find an opening to attack?_ He mused _._ Then again, the photographer was hopelessly transparent, and lacked a conniving bone in his body. Not that it would lower his defenses. It just meant Akihito would be easily manipulated, something Asami had no problem exploiting.  But it was a privilege reserved for himself solely.

At the thought of his lover, heat stirred in his loins at the thought of that slender, nubile body. He took great pleasure in silencing the protests that came from the blonde's brash mouth. And what a talented mouth it was.

It was decided. Akihito was to be on tonight's menu. Whatever he was probably cooking, given his black hole of a stomach, be damned.

* * *

 

Akihito woke up with all the familiar twinges of an active night. Lying there, he stretched out his arms to either side, feeling the empty space surrounding him, basking in the late morning sun's rays. Without opening his eyes, he knew Asami was long gone, and for some reason, he couldn't help but feel disappointed. He would never admit it, but he liked waking up, tucked up against the bastard. And for the moment, he could ignore that his quest to expose the truth contradicted with his desire to protect the man and his secrets, forget that the man was the ruthless businessman who had no compunction about putting a bullet between the eyes, his face smoothed over in sleep so utterly pedestrian.

As much as he poked and prodded, he could not find any information on Asami other than generic bits and pieces. Akihito prided himself at being more adept than the average individual at uncovering information thanks to his occupation, but everywhere he looked, he met with a wall. Knowing Asami as he did, he figured that was on purpose. The less people knew about Asami, the greater of an upper hand he had.

Akihito frowned slightly. It wasn’t as though Asami was going to disclose his life story to him any time soon though. But it made the gap between them all the more apparent, and not for the first time, he second-guessed his right to stay by Asami’s side. He shook his head, sitting up. No, thinking about it would do no good. For now he had a job to get to.

He swung his legs over to the side of the bed and made to stand. He cursed as he felt the proof of their coupling trickle down his inner thigh and hobbled to the bathroom. “Shower,” he announced to himself.

* * *

 

Asami checked the time on his Patek-Philippe watch, noting that Akihito should have risen by then before turning his attention back to Kirishima. “Confirm with Aso-san that I will be available to meet with him to review the fiscal policy proposal at 3pm tomorrow afternoon.”

Kirishima nodded curtly, filling in the agenda. “And about Umekawa-sama?”

“Decline his offer,” Asami dismissed. “We do not need to invest anymore funds within Japan. Not until this recession is resolved.”

“The shipments from Russia have arrived, all accounted for. I took the liberty of completing the transaction and wired the final sum to his account.”

“Efficient, as always,” Asami drawled. “Anything else?”

The secretary pushed up his glasses. “Someone has apparently tipped Takaba off that there will be a certain private party in Chiba with various attendees of interest. It would be—ah, if I dare says—beneficial if he is indisposed that evening.”

Asami raised an eyebrow. “I must concur. However, considering that I have _engagements_ to attend to, as we both know, discreet methods must be employed so that his attentions are directed elsewhere.”

Kirishima took the cue, “If I may suggest, there is a display featuring Sugimoto Hiroshi’s work in Shinjuku, hosted by Yamaguchi-san. Quite a few members of the Diet and entertainers such as Momoharu Ai will be in attendance. There will be a discussion panel, followed by a Q&A with the photographer himself. And dinner will be provided of course.” He coughed lightly. “If I recall, Ono Jiro will be present. It is not often that one has the opportunity to sample the art that is Ono-sama’s sushi, and one that should not be missed.” He paused before adding, “Of course, Sugimoto Hiroshi should be quite the incentive as well.”

Asami smirked. “Oh, I have no doubts as to the brat’s priorities, but proceed with notifying his boss of Akihito’s new assignment. I am assuming you have procured an invitation.”

“Of course,” Kirishima agreed. “As for less pressing issues, there is an unresolved matter. I was wondering what you would like to do with Masato for his misstep.”

Asami stood, a hand shoved in one suit pocket, turning to face the expanse of window that displayed his empire that lay sprawled before him. He was silent for a moment, thinking. “Break his arms in compensation,” he answered harshly, “and assign someone to keep an eye on him. He can still charm clients without his arms, and he won’t be filtering out any money.”

“Understood. In that case, please look through these files. The first folder require signatures, the next couple are simply future potential acquisitions, and the rest are quarterly reports and finances of the clubs, Sion coming in first in profits, exceeding projections.” Kirishima placed his load on the hardwood desk, bowed and excused himself, closing the office door quietly behind him.

Asami remained standing, staring out into the expanse of cold steel and cement, illuminated with bright, artificial lights, teeming with people from all walks of life. He lit a cigarette, smoke rising like wisps of regret, and he wondered how long he could shield his lover’s eyes from the corruption and filth of his world.


	3. 外国人--The Foreigner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dialogue in italics is spoken in English.

Akihito crouched in front of his bottom drawer, rummaging through his hoard of bottoms which primarily consisted of denim and cargo pants, specifically his work clothes that he could afford to scuff and rip—unlike his favored collection of vintage jeans. “They have to be here somewhere,” he muttered, searching for his only pair of dress pants.

“What has to be there?” rumbled Asami from behind him.

“My pants.”

“Or you can omit them entirely. I’m rather partial to you in only a shirt. Although I’d much prefer it if it were my own.”

Akihito glowered at the yakuza warily over his shoulder. “I’ve an assignment in a few. I don’t have time to play around with you, so don’t even try it.” His fingers brushed against smooth, stiff material. “Aha,” he cried triumphantly, pulling it out from the back under the neat, folded stacks of clothing.

Asami watched the boy tug on the black pants as he hopped around with faint amusement. “As much as I would love to take you up on that challenge, I have an appointment as well. I’ll drop you off at your little gathering on the way.”

“It’s not a little gathering! It’s the biggest artistic social event of the year so far. You’re just pissed that you weren’t invited,” Akihito shot back, “since only select _important_ people were invited.” He narrowed his eyes slightly as he buttoned up his shirt and tucked it in. “Where are you going anyway? Aren’t you off the rest of the day?”

Asami smirked. “I have an empire to run, Akihito. There’s no such thing as a real day off.”

He ignored Akihito’s muttered huff, “Or maybe they were right when they said there’s no rest for the wicked.

“But if you must know,” he continued, “Azumi Ryouko expects me to escort her tonight.” He watched an angry flush creep into Akihito’s pale cheeks, feeling satisfaction at riling up his wildcat. He promptly proceeded to add fuel to the fire and ruffled the youth’s fine hair. “So don’t get too worked up if nosy photographers snap a picture of us for the front page. It might lead me to think that you’re jealous.”

“Who the hell would be?” snapped Akihito, brilliant hazel eyes flashing with irritation while whipping off a skinny black tie off the rack.

Asami reached over, catching the tie and deftly knotting it in a neat half-Windsor under the stiff white collar. He bent and whispered in Akihito’s ear. “That’s disappointing. I was hoping you would be more attached and possessive of your lover. And here I was thinking that we had something special.”

Blood suffused Akihito’s face, this time with embarrassment. “Who’s your lover?” he retorted without much heat, sliding on his silvery grey vest which emphasized his trim waist. He felt the hot stare of the other man and read the appreciation in his eyes as he examined him.

“You are far more charming than any actress.”

“Flattery gets you nowhere, old man.” Akihito refused to look at him, slapping his hands away when he tried to help him into the charcoal blazer that Asami himself had gifted to him to replace the one the man had destroyed one wildly heady night. Custom tailored. Rich bastard.

“I think someone needs a reminder of what this old man is capable of.” A dangerous glint entered Asami’s eyes that did not bode well for Akihito’s bottom or his schedule.

“Not now!” cried Akihito in alarm. “I can’t be late! I’m getting paid a bonus 50% for this job.”

“Is that so?” Asami cocked a brow. “We should leave now then so you are not late. Maybe you’ll be a step closer to supporting me.”

“Asshole!” He pointed at him, posture brimming with confidence. “Just you wait and watch. You’ll be bowing down before me soon!” Akihito stormed out the bedroom to make his point.

Asami chuckled and followed him, shrugging on his own suit jacket. “I look forward to it.”

* * *

 

After bidding Asami farewell with a cocky, “Try not to kill anyone while I’m gone” and a thanks for the ride, Akihito quickly bypassed the security by flashing his embossed invitation and received a nametag in return. He wound up wandering the exhibit in a sort of a daze, absorbed with the photographs lining the white walls. The building itself was a work of art, a sleek beauty comprised of glass and metal. Vaguely, he recalled that Sugimoto Hiroshi was an accomplished architect and wondered if he had designed the construction. Remembering the reason why he was there in the first place, Akihito raised his camera to his eye and snapped a few shots of the exhibit and the guests mingling in small groups down the hallway. He heard snippets of conversation, none pertaining to the photographs unsurprisingly, considering the guests in attendance. Instead, they spoke in terms of marginal profits, bullish or bearish markets, and turnover rates with the occasional snatches of rumors and gossip. As he meandered through the guests, he caught sight of Ai-chan who was engaged in conversation with some CEO of a fashion line, but when she noticed him, she flashed him a smile and gave a small wave as she continued to converse with her partner. He returned the gesture with a nod and grin of his own before continuing his exploration.

Checking the time on his phone, Akihito noted that he only had a few minutes before the discussion panel began and hurriedly made his way to the amphitheater-like room which was to house the open forum. He managed to locate a seat near the front of the stage much to his delight and settled himself with great anticipation. The lights soon dimmed and a spotlight narrowed its focus to the podium as Yamaguchi Takano took the stand to welcome the audience and present the panel, consisting of the head curator at Otsuka Museum, the esteemed black-and-white street photographer Moriyama Daido, and a representative from the Japanese Art Society in Manhattan.

Leaning forward, Akihito absorbed the conversation avidly as each of the speakers contributed to the discussion on the history of Japanese photography as it entered the modern age and the exploration of the world and humanity it engaged. They mentioned works Akihito was familiar with from college, listing Araki Nobuyashi known for his controversial erotic photos and Tomatsu Shomei who arguably revolutionized Japanese photography and documented the changes within the country after the last World War. But there were photographers he did not recognize and intended to look up as soon as he could, such as Hosoe Eikoh who worked with Moriyama and focused on the darker, deeper aspects of the human psyche like irrationality and death.

When the guest speakers finished their dialogue, the main attraction of the night whose work adorned the walls took the stage and was pumped for information by the audience—what was his inspiration, what techniques did he favor, did he have a work he considered his _chef-d’œuvre._ Akihito kept quiet and listened, intent on learning but resolute in finding his own path so that he could someday stand on the same footing as the legends such as this man, Sugimoto Hiroshi.

As the talk drew to a close, Akihito slipped out of his seat and made his way backstage to catch the guests of honor for photos. To his pleasure, they were all welcoming, and the highlight of his night was when both photographers Moriyama and Sugimoto clapped him on his back and encouraged him when he explained that he was into photojournalism.

Still heady from the experience, Akihito ambled towards the dining hall where sushi and other delicacies were spread out in a buffet fashion. A rumble in his stomach reminded him of how hungry he was since the last time he ate was about eight hours ago. Picking up a plate, he made a beeline for the _otoro_.

Piling up food as high as he could on his plate, the photographer turned and bumped into a broad chest.

“ _Oh, I’m sorry!”_ said a voice in English above him before he could get a word in.

He blinked up, noting the sharp grey eyes and high cheekbones. His strong facial structure was indicative of a European heritage, but his features were softer, a tribute to his Asian ancestry. In all, he was a handsome specimen. His suit was most likely Armani, and he smelled expensive. Akihito automatically labeled him as an asshole of a businessman. “ _It’s no problem,”_ he responded.

A dark eyebrow shot up as the gentleman assessed him. “ _Your English is very good.”_ So he was a condescending asshole too.

“ _English was part of my school curriculum since junior high, and I studied abroad in the U.S. for a year, so I have conversational English down,”_ Akihito answered and moved towards a table, dismissing the man. He was more interested in chowing down on his bounty than making idle talk with a stranger. His mouth was already watering in anticipation.

However, the man seemed to have taken a fancy to him, having tailed him and taking a seat across from him. “ _You’re pretty young for this type of place.”_

Akihito’s eyes narrowed. “ _I could say the same for you_.” The majority of the attendees were wealthy older men, well into their fifties, and the man in front of him could be no older than his early thirties.

The man chuckled. “ _Touché. Although I would have pegged you for a high school student, but judging from what you said earlier, I think it’s safe to say that you’ve at least graduated.”_

Akihito ignored him in favor of polishing off the melt-in-the-mouth otoro and starting on the grilled wagyu beef. His reaction, though, did nothing to faze the other man.

“ _Ah, pardon my rudeness. I’m Antoine Rinieri, President of Skylights International. It’s a pleasure to meet you…”_ He paused and glanced at the nametag pinned to Akihito’s right chest. “ _Takaba Akihito.”_

The Japanese had a reputation of politeness, and Akihito would be damned before some foreigner upped him. He placed his chopsticks down carefully, pulling out his card from his pocket. Holding it out with both hands and head bowed, he introduced himself, “ _Yes, freelance photographer at your service. Very nice to meet you too.”_

Antoine took the card in both hands and inclined his head respectfully. “I’m assuming that photography is a passion of yours,” he inquired, reverting to Japanese.

“You could say that,” Akihito said dryly, relieved to be speaking in his native tongue. It had been awhile since he had used the other language, and he had been worried about sounding like an idiot since he was rusty. He relaxed a bit. It didn’t seem like the other guy was planning on leaving him alone any time soon, and he seemed harmless enough. Maybe he wasn’t as bad as he originally thought.

“What did you think of the discussion panel?” Antoine asked, genuinely curious.

“Informative. I liked how there were multiple views from different professionals in their own area of expertise. They brought up quite a few points and photographers, and I think it may have changed the way I see things through my viewfinder,” Akihito munched thoughtfully.

“Ah, yes, exposing the truth and capturing it on film.”

Akihito nodded energetically. “Yeah!”

“I must say that I am a fan of Cartier-Bresson’s work. I have a copy of his book _The Decisive Movement_ at home.”

The boy’s eyes lit up in recognition. “Cartier-Bresson is my idol,” Akihito enthused. “He’s pretty much the father of photojournalism, and one of the founders of Magnum. His work is pretty much black and white, but that’s my favorite. Black and white photography holds a special place in my heart. The shades of grey—it’s intense. There’s something raw and honest about them, kinda like it strips the target to the core and captures the moment and immortalizes it for eternity. You know, Cartier-Bresson said, ‘There is a creative fraction of a second when you are taking a picture. Your eye must see a composition or an expression that life itself offers you, and you must know with intuition when to click the camera.’”

“’Oop! The Moment! Once you miss it, it is gone forever,’” the businessman quoted back. He threw back his head and laughed, a rich mellifluous sound that sent pleasant shivers down Akihito’s spine. “You’re _really_ crazy about photography, huh?”

Akihito smiled sheepishly, peeping beneath long lowered lashes. “Yeah, I guess. It’s been my flame since my dad got me hooked on it. He was a photographer too.”

“That sounds magnificent. I admire your dedication and enthusiasm,” Antoine said, sincerity evident. “Is Magnum in your game plan?”

“Yes! Of course! It’d be the pinnacle of my career!” Akihito sounded scandalized that it was even questioned. He deflated slightly. “But right now I’m just doing freelance work with a focus on criminal photography,” he admitted ruefully. “It’s satisfying though, to expose the dirt of the underworld that goes on without people realizing it. It’s dangerous sometimes, but that’s what gets my blood pumping.” He flashed a brilliant smile. “Thugs don’t really appreciate being busted on the front page headlines.”

“Your girlfriend must worry about you quite a bit with you chasing criminals all over the place,” Antoine mused, picking up a flute of champagne from a passing attendant.

Akihito ducked his head in embarrassment. “My—ah—partner and I don’t really discuss this.”

“You have a partner?”Antoine clearly had picked up on his choice of wording.

He averted eyes. “Uh—yeah.” In a quieter tone, he muttered, “I guess.”

The slate-eyed man drained the alcohol in his glass and leaned in closer, eyebrow arched. “You guess?”

“No! I mean, it’s kind of complicated. It’s a bit of a nasty mess,” Akihito explained.

A slow, easy smile slid across his aristocratic features. “Oh?” he purred. “Your partner doesn’t approve of your work, then?”

Akihito shifted uneasily in his seat. “I doubt most people would. I mean, even my parents don’t entirely either.”

Antoine’s gaze pinned him to his chair. “Hmm…in that case, they don’t seem to understand you, do they? The adrenaline rush, the excitement that comes with heart-stopping situations. Me, though? I’m the same, you know. The hunt excites me too. I don’t mind when things get a little _**nasty**_.” The last word spoken in English rolled off his tongue in a sinful way, crisp and precise, heating up the blood running through Akihito’s veins. He was positive that the connotation behind the word in this case was not the same as when he had used it. As a matter of fact, that whole last part seemed to taken an agenda of its own. And when had Antoine slid his large manicured hand over his left fist?

Warning bells rang in his head. _Oh shit! Flirting!_ Things were taking a turn towards the uncomfortable, and Akihito wanted no part in it. Besides, he wasn’t thrilled at the jab at Asami. Only he was allowed to insult the bastard. He huffed a nervous laugh, “It’s nothing really. We get along fine. I’m—we’re still figuring things out. As a matter of fact, it’s getting pretty late, and I’m expected back by now.” He stood up, but nearly tripped, not realizing that Antoine had inserted his legs between his to press up against him.

Antoine caught him easily and steadied him. “Careful there.” Humor tinted his voice.

“Thanks.” He straightened and brushed himself off. “My ride home is coming soon,” Akihito lied, as he backed off. “I need to get going.”

“That’s a pity. I was enjoying our conversation.” Antoine’s lips quirked up in a sly grin. “We should meet up again. I’ll call you.” He held up Akihito’s business card between two long, elegant fingers and slid it into his breast pocket over his heart and tapped it. “Wouldn’t want to lose this.”

Akihito managed a weak smile in response and fled the building. Outside, he hailed a taxi and gave the address to the flat he shared with Asami in a rush to get away. He was so charging the ride on Asami.

As the cab maneuvered through the crowded streets, Akihito sorted out his conflicted thoughts and emotions and reflected over what the hell just happened. Whichever way he looked at it, he arrived at the same conclusion. _Well that escalated quickly._


	4. Eye of the Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the feedback! Unfortunately (or luckily) jealous Asami is still dormant in this chappie. Forgive me for discrepancies; I may have to go back in to fine tune it since I occasionally have random brain lapses. Also, any opinions expressed are not necessarily my own, but were to add/create realism to the story. Oh, and rating may go up in the future, but I cockblocked Asami again...so not this time...

The ride back to the penthouse was a dark and silent one, the city lights muted through heavily tinted windows. The BMW cruised through the streets without impediment. At three a.m. the streets were fairly deserted with the exception of the occasional individual on the walk of shame and stragglers, stumbling out of clubs and bars, either drunk or high.

Asami was satisfied at how the night had proceeded. Negotiations had been conducted successfully with his South Korean contacts with little fuss, which was a relief considering the animosity between the two countries as a result of WWII when the Japanese army had seized Korean females as comfort women. He snorted softly at the absurdity. Money really did talk; business carried on without obstruction, but the damn government leaders of both countries wouldn’t even meet up without the U.S. inference.

The only loose end that needed tying up was the newbie. One of his main partners for the Sino-American trade had recently stepped down, and he had yet to meet the successor, but the old man had reassured Asami that his protégé was just as, if not more, efficient than he was. Asami hoped so. The drug trade between China and the U.S. was a lucrative one, based on the sheer number of metric tons smuggled out of China, and the U.S. was a well-paying purchaser of the precursor chemicals needed for heroin, cocaine, meth and the like. He would be quite displeased if he were to lose his established trade routes thanks to an incompetent fool. He would judge for himself if the man was worth the position he had been appointed when he met him for their dinner meeting. And if he wasn’t…well, a replacement would have to be found.

The car pulled up to the complex, interrupting his musings, and Suoh opened the door for his boss. Asami stepped out, nodding curtly to the large man. When Asami arrived at the top floor and entered his home, he slipped off his suit coat, holsters on display as he made his way to his bedroom. However passing the living room, he was surprised that the lights were still on, albeit at the lowest setting, casting shadows across the room. He paused at the doorway, curious. Curled up in the center of the couch was Akihito dressed in only t-shirt and boxers, staring off into space.

Leaning against the doorframe, he loosened his tie. “Akihito,” he called softly.

The boy sat up sharply, shaken out of his reverie. He turned to face the master of the home, eyes inexplicably drawn to the gun resting on his side. Biting his lip, he flicked his line of sight to the man’s face. “Welcome home,” he whispered.

Asami crooked his finger, beckoning the boy towards him, and Akihito obediently complied. He wrapped a strong arm around the slim waist, ushering him to the bedroom. Akihito took a seat on the expansive bed, watching Asami as he took his time removing his clothing. The semi-automatic landed with a heavy _clunk_ as it was placed on the dresser, a constant presence by the bed and reminder of what Asami was.

“You’re up late,” came the off-hand comment.

The photographer shrugged. “Too restless. Was just thinking.”

“About me?” Asami tossed the last of his clothes into the basket before prowling before Akihito naked and pushing him backwards.

“Someone is full of himself,” Akihito observed, although in actuality, he had been thinking of him. Rinieri-san’s remark regarding his occupation and Asami’s stand on it had brought Akihito’s insecurities to the forefront.

Somehow, he no longer wanted to topple the kingpin of Japan and bring the man to his knees, but rather be on even ground with him. Somewhere along the way, he had begun to crave the businessman’s respect and approval and protect the man from his many enemies. But too often for his liking, he ended up in situations that without Asami’s interference, he could have been dead. He remembered Asami’s request to not toss his heart around anymore and wondered if it were possible to strike a balance between his career and helping shield the man from attacks. He was thankful that Asami had simply instated a curfew at nine to check in, and letting him roam free instead of locking him up. He was perfectly aware that he was a weak point in Asami’s defense from his experience with Fei Long. He had no intention playing the same game as Kuroda and Sudoh—he didn’t have what they offered, but he had something else in his arsenal. Right then and there, Akihito made a decision. He was going to protect and support Asami with what he knew best, and that was information through an outside view. And he reasoned that if he doubled his efforts in compiling his portfolio on the side and refocus on what was important to him, he could avoid compromising his morals and values.

“I think it’ll be you who will be full of me,” Asami chuckled, peeling Akihito’s shirt off, licking and nipping a trail from navel to his lover’s stiff, pink nipples. He lavished attention over the little peaks, suckling and biting on one while twisting and pinching the other with expert fingers. In response, Akihito’s smaller hands tangled themselves in his hair, mussing it out of its normally slicked back state.

“A-A-Asami,” he panted. “W-w-wait!”

When the man didn’t listen, Akihito literally took matters into his hands as he tugged Asami’s head upwards by his hair. Piercing gold looked up at him, and the intensity made Akihito harden further.

“What?” growled Asami, displeased at the interruption.

Akihito propped himself up on an elbow. “It’s really late, and you have a meeting at 7:30. Don’t even ask how I know. I overheard Kirishima, but that doesn’t leave enough time for you to rest and even less if we fuck.” A hand cupped Asami’s face tenderly, stroking it softly with a thumb. “Let me massage you to sleep. I don’t have any assignments lined up tomorrow since it’s the weekend, so I can afford to be up.”

There was a momentary silence as the older man considered the offer. Akihito had a point; there was only a maximum of four hours between now and then. It was rare enough that the kid would offer to do something like that willingly, and he could claim the boy whenever he pleased anyways. “Very well,” he relented, allowing Akihito to slither out from under him.

A few moments later, Akihito’s weight pressed down on him as he straddled his back, bottle in hand. “What brought this on?” He relaxed into the feel of those talented hands kneading and rubbing into his tense muscles, pinpointing and tackling every knot.

“I was just thinking that I trouble you enough as it is, so I just decided to return the favor,” Akihito answered evasively, not wanting to reveal the entire internal debate he had been engaged in earlier.

“Oh? You should think more often then. It’d do you more good.”

Asami winced as Akihito whacked the back of his head. “Asshole. I’m more careful now.”

“You ditch your guards every time.”

Akihito pouted as he continued to massage the expanse of muscles. “I can’t do my job with them. They’d blow my cover. ‘Sides, all the assignments I’ve accepted recently have all been pretty low key.”

Asami grunted as nimble fingers forcibly worked out a kink in his shoulder. “How was your assignment tonight?”

“Awesome! I was able to get some really nice shots with the guest speakers. The Editor-in-Chief is gonna love them. The talk was super interesting, and the food was sooooo good. I even saw Ai-chan,” rambled Akihito, animatedly. He halted in his monologue as he remembered Rinieri and decided against mentioning him, before pushing on with, “Hey, Asami. You would have blended in with all the snotty rich people.”

The crooked businessman snorted in response, but was pleased with the positive response. That was a stroke of brilliance on Kirishima’s part. He would be sure to add a little bonus on the secretary’s paycheck. “Don’t lump me with those plebeians.”

“And what about Yamaguchi-san?” queried Akihito. “Rumor has it that his company is just a front for his syndicate. Sounds like someone I know.”

Asami’s voice was cool, tinged with faint humor. “Really? Certainly you mustn’t be accusing me, Akihito. After all, I am a legitimate businessman.”

“And I’m a pretty ballerina.”

“You certainly are,” deadpanned Asami, which morphed into a full blown chuckle upon Akihito’s howl of frustration.

“Bastard!”

* * *

 

He disliked him immediately. He hated that goddamned smile that had been pasted on his face since the start of their meeting. He did not like this flippant man. He didn’t trust that perpetual smile as though he constantly found everything amusing and was secretly mocking them inside. It was beautifully perfect—too perfect. There was something not entirely sane lurking behind that cheerily whimsical façade.

Asami had to throttle down the urge to blast the fucking smile off his face with his gun, but had to settle for an appearance of affected _ennui._ Despite Asami’s concerns, the successor was not stupid. To the contrary. He brought his attention back to his new partner, taking a sip from his black coffee and tapping the tip of his Dunhill against the ashtray.

“No wife?” The other man motioned at the bare left hand.

“Too troublesome.”

He laughed. “Lover then.” He eyed Asami. “But fuck-buddies seems to be more in line with you.”

Asami merely smirked, not gracing the unvoiced question with an actual answer, and blew out a trail of smoke.

“You’re not helping the aging problem.” His voice took on a teasing tone. “You should procreate and help out your country.”

“Even more troublesome,” Asami sneered. “I don’t need to give some whore more reason to cling onto me because she spread her legs and bore me a child. You should understand at least that, Rinieri.”

“True, but Japan needs to open its door to immigration or its people need to start reproducing. The aging population is a severe problem for the future of Japan’s economy. I mean, a dwindling labor force and growing population of retirees? It’s not sustainable. ‘Abenomics’ won’t be enough to solve this crisis.” The Chinese-French mix polished off his breakfast pastry.

“I’m well aware,” was the cold response. “However, I did not come here to debate over political matters.”

“Come now,” Rinieri chided. “We both know that you can’t entirely separate business and politics. Government policies affect how business is conducted. Don’t tell me you don’t hold the ears of some very important politicians.”

Asami shrugged, leaning back into his seat. He took in a deep drag of his cigarette, exhaling it slowly as he scrutinized the American. Born and educated in the U.S. the man had cultivated contacts and forged trust among businessmen, politicians, and local mobs in China through his mother’s side, gaining an edge against his American counterparts which brought his trading company into the limelight. He had made thorough use of his two heritages. Serving as an intermediary between the two countries with a solid understanding of the cultural quirks and differences, Skylights International proved itself to be an effective negotiator and middleman. Of course, Rinieri’s familiarity with the many backdoors within China’s system and the extensive corruption in lower levels of government made exploitation for greater profits a given. Asami would make no mistake; this man was ambitious, and if he smelled blood in the water, he would go in for the kill.

“Politicians come and go,” answered Asami, noncommittally. “It’s a fickle occupation.”

“So it is,” Rinieri agreed. “But back on topic. I am satisfied with the terms that Kurokawa-san operated under. I see no reason to negotiate a new contract currently. That being said, I look forward to working with you, Asami.”

He nodded sharply. “Likewise. And forward the details of the next drop off to Kirishima. He will be handling the particulars of this job.”

“Will do. Until next time.” Antoine rose out of his seat gracefully and gave a little bow. As he exited, his two bodyguards flanked his sides, the bulge of weaponry evident under their suits. Although Asami was loathe to allow guns so close to his presence, in a gesture of good faith towards Rinieri, he had allowed the bodyguards in. There would not be a next time, though.

* * *

 

Asami Ryuichi was one apathetic son of a bitch, just as his predecessor had informed him. Whatever. He didn’t need to like the guy to respect him and to get things done. Business was business. He tapped his fingers absentmindedly against his lap as he ran through the events of the past few days.

He had adjusted to the jet lag with surprising speed, having only flown in from his branch in Los Angeles just under three days ago. He hadn’t had the luxury to relax, having agreed to meet with Yamaguchi Ei at his party. He grinned suddenly. Japan was turning out to be better than expected, and since his newest branch was to be in the heart of Tokyo, he supposed it was a good sign that he’d be enjoying his time there. He was stuck there for at least half a year while he established his business and ensured its stability.

He took out the thin slip of cardstock and flipped it over and over between his fingers, lounging in the backseat of the Maybach. Lifting it to his nose, he inhaled. Mixed with the scent of paper, there was an undercurrent of sweetness, something fresh that went hand in hand with the kid’s personality. Now here was a gem. He had noticed the boy checking him out when they bumped into each other, but instead of flirting, he had brought up his defensive walls and promptly ignored him. It was something that he wasn’t used to—he was well-aware of his good looks—so he had followed the long-legged youth to his table.

And what a treat! Originally he had been concerned about how he would pass his free time in this foreign land, but this was far more tantalizing than anticipated. Akihito was all exuberance and innocence, with a single-minded interest in his dream. He had not though it was possible and that it was a simply romanticized figures of speech, but the kid’s eyes had positively glittered as he spoke and his smile was infectious. So cute. He had completely not noticed Antoine’s advances until the last possible moment. And then he had bolted, like a scared little rabbit.

Antoine wondered if he would taste as good as he smelled. He licked his lips and his grin widened further, shark-like. He had plenty of resources at his disposal, and he had the photographer’s name and number. There was no way he would be able to escape, and Antoine always delighted in the chase. Takaba Akihito had awoken the predator within him, and he was hungry for a taste. If Akihito proved to a tasty morsel, Antoine would consider spiriting him away from Japan and bringing him along with him on trips. Then he could take his time to thoroughly savor the boy.

He toyed with his iPhone before tapping in his passkey and brought up his messages. A few brisk keystrokes later and the message sent. Antoine settled himself more comfortably in his leather seat. Now he would lay in wait. Let the hunt begin.


	5. The Dirty Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Typed part of this at the airport, but then I got blindsided by college. Sorry. Time to see what Rinieri does under the table.  
> For reference:  
> もしもし-"Moshi moshi" phone greeting

Akihito sat cross-legged in front of his laptop with the comforter resting on his bare shoulders too lazy to leave the comfort of the bed. He was entirely still except for his right hand which rested on the touch pad and every so often clicked to change the photo currently on screen. He scrunched up his face in concentration, examining his collection. There were a multitude of shots of Tokyo’s younger generation that he had taken prior to his stunts as a criminal journalist—school boys in the midst of a brawl, a girl that wore a daringly high uniform skirt smoking pot with her girlfriend in the back of the school. Even then he had an affinity for less than proper activities. But these—these weren’t what he was looking for.

He was far more proud of his more recent work, snapped in between lapses in his assignments, although there were some exceptional ones he captured on the job. He expanded the thumbnail of the picture he took just last week of Ran-san. He had been camped out in the red light district, waiting for Diet member Fukuyama Daisuke to emerge with his favorite call girl, but it had been a bust. Disappointed, he meandered through the street until he had been propositioned by one of the prostitutes. Embarrassed, he declined, citing he wasn’t into women. Well, it might not have been true since he didn’t know any better. He hadn’t been attracted to anyone until Asami had forced himself onto him, in more ways than one.

She had laughed and patted his cheek, calling him cute.

On impulse, he asked if he could take her picture. She had raised her brows in surprise but acquiesced. The shot had come out well, her lovely twenty year old face in focus while her coworkers lounged in the background. Faint lines were etched around her mouth, induced by stress, cosmetics heavy on her eyelids. Her powdered white face stood out starkly against the greys and blacks of the picture. There was a tiredness and air of wistfulness that clung to her, far too old for her age but far too young to have achieved, but at the same time, there was a strength and pride in her carriage.

When he asked how she felt about her profession, she had smiled bitterly. “There’s no shame in using what you have to live. What I want doesn’t matter so much as I need to survive. When you’re out of resources, you start using what you’ve got and eventually that will run out.” She had given him a sideways glance then. “I’m in college you know? Gotta pay my way through and we all know how expensive that is.”

Akihito supposed he must have had an expression of pity because she had reached out and patted him again. “Sometimes I sell dreams. Sometimes men come to me because they cannot have the one they love, but for a night, they can pretend they do.”

He couldn’t help notice the irony of her situation and doubted she was the only one in the same boat. He sighed and hoped that at least he could tell her story through his work.

His phone vibrated suddenly, startling Akihito out of his reflections. Snatching it up in hopes it was Asami, his face fell and his eyebrows drew together, puzzled. He didn’t recognize the number. Entering in his pin, he pulled up and read the whole message and internally groaned. He really didn’t want to be rude, but he wasn’t tempted to see Antoine again. The guy made him nervous. He started to type out a rejection, but stopped, setting the phone down. But it was _free food_ , and it was at _Namiki Yabusoba_. Akihito salivated at the thought of hot soba swimming in rich _dashi_ broth. And it wasn’t like he was _that_ bad company, if a little flirty. He’d had worse. And the man invited him on the grounds of discussing recent events in Japan that he had photographed.

He hesitated, but making a split second decision, he grabbed his phone and hurriedly sent back a brief acquiescence to meeting up tomorrow. Tossing the cell onto the pile of blankets, he hugged his feet to his chest, perching on the edge of the bed and stared at the little piece of technology as if it would attack if he looked away. For some reason, Akihito had a nagging feeling that he might not have made the wisest decision.

He jumped at the jingle emitting from his phone and gingerly checked. _Great! I look forward to it._

Akihito sighed and jumped again as the phone vibrated viciously, indicating an incoming call. Without checking the caller ID, he swiped the screen. “もしもし.”

“Ah! Takaba-kun! Great news, great news,” crowed his boss. “You remember that grant sponsored by the Department of Foreign Affairs in the U.S. in association with our company that you were interested in? It’s all yours, if you want it still!”

“Huh?” was Akihito’s intelligent reply.

“The three month one where you sent the application to Washington, D.C. and allows you to hit points of interest occurring worldwide, like the Middle East and Paris to build up your portfolio,” he was reminded impatiently.

“Oh!” Akihito’s eyes widened. “Ohhhh! No way! Really?”

“Of course, it’s not official until you accept it. There’s a bit of paperwork to get through and getting your visas, but other than that, you’ll be good to go. You have until next week decide.”

“P-p-please let me think about it,” Akihito stammered out, heart pounding and mind whirling with the possibilities.

“Yes, yes. I’ll see you Monday.” The call disconnected and Akihito shakily put the phone down.

He took in a deep breath and then whooped for joy. A three months, all-expense paid trip, and it was his. Wait till he told Asami. Wait. _Asami. Three months without Asami._ Fuck.

He ran his fingers through his messy hair. He had applied for the grant through his workplace prior to his living arrangements with Asami. Before his attachment to the domineering jerk. Previous to the whole convoluted mess the two of them had created for themselves. But now, without meaning to, he managed to create ties that hadn’t been there before, making him hesitate at this once in a lifetime opportunity when he would have leapt for it without a second thought. Damn him.

* * *

 

“Hey. Do you miss me when you go on those business trips?”

Asami took a sip from his whiskey, amusement just barely curling his lips. “They’re usually only about a week maximum.”

Akihito harrumphed. “I know _that._ But you’re avoiding the question.”

“Don’t tell me you miss me when I’m gone. How cute.”

The boy scowled fiercely. “Don’t make fun of me.”

Asami fluffed the mess of dyed dirty-blonde hair resting on his lap. “I’m not. You really are cute. Especially when you show your little claws.”

“I’m not a cat,” he grumbled. “I was just asking ‘cause I might be going abroad.”

The hand on his head froze for the briefest of moments. “I thought you were loved Japan the best and didn’t want to leave.”

“I do think Japan’s the best.” Akhito rolled over to look up at the older man. “But I do want to see the world and take pictures of it and have the first-hand experience.”

“The brat is growing up,” smirked Asami.

“It’ll be three months,” he announced, abruptly.

“Oh?”

“I’m thinking of going, but three months feels like a long time. It’ll be a quarter of a year.” Akihito fingered the edge of his shirt, a nervous habit. “I just wanted to know what you think about it.”

“It seems like an excellent opportunity to pursue.” Asami shrugged an indifferent shoulder. “You’ll certainly be getting less trouble than you are now.”

In actuality though, Asami had felt a faint twinge inside when he heard the time frame. The two of them had not been separated for that long of a timespan since they had met, and he disliked having what belonged to him out of his monitoring for such an extended period. Especially given Akihito’s innate ability to gravitate towards suicidal situations. Clearly his self-preservation was not developed properly.

“I’m just worried about you. Who’s going to take care of you?” Asami looked at the photographer incredulously as he continued, “I mean, who’s going to cook for you? You can’t live off alcohol like before. It’s bad for you! You don’t really eat anyone else’s food, and I know that ‘cause you came to the onsen that time to pick me up and pay the debt when I said I wasn’t gonna be back that month ‘cause you _missed_ me.”

The two held eye contact, neither willing to yield. Asami lifted the snifter of whiskey to his lips, savoring the pleasant burn as it went down his throat before replying, “It is too quiet with you gone.”

Akihito’s lower lip jutted slightly in a petulant pout. Before he could get a word in, Asami went on, “But you have always done whatever you have liked. I have no problems continuing to allow you to do as you wish, provided that you understand where your place is and return to where you belong.” Gold eyes flared hotly.

A little thrill shot down his spine at the note of possession ringing in the man’s voice. “Yeah, yeah. I get it,” he said but despite the flippant answer, it was soft with muted affection.

* * *

 

“I assume you find this arrangement pleasing?” purred Antoine, all silk and honey, as he stroked the soft brunette head between his legs.

“Very,” rasped the other man, hand fisted in one whore’s dyed flaming red hair while she laved the yakuza’s balls and cock when it exited the other girl’s sopping hole, lapping at the juices that leaked out. Small whimpers and moans and the wet slide of flesh against flesh echoed in the large room, punctured by the occasional grunt from the heavyset man sitting opposite of Antoine.

With clinical detachment, he watched his newest client sample the products he had brought. Too easy. He glanced down at the boy sprawled on the floor, desperately sucking at his cock. He was a pretty thing, well trained—he knew how to use his tongue well. But Antoine was _bored_. By this point, finding release had become a chore. But there was someone who might make it much, much more thrilling. Arousal flared in him as he recalled hazel eyes. Oh yes, he would be a little firebrand in bed.

He looked up at Inagawa, hearing the man growl out his release. “Yes, take it all, you pretty little cunt. Fuck. You both love cock, don’t you?”

As the kaichou caught his breath, Antoine struck. “They are skilled, aren’t they? I have twenty that are already perfected. Of course, the extra time used for their training makes them a little more pricey, but as you can see they are well worth it.”

“How much more?” demanded Inagawa, fingering the redhead vigorously, eliciting throaty moans and little begging noises. The black haired girl remained in his lap, tweaking his nipples and licking up and down the column of the man’s neck.

“Fifty thousand extra.”

“Total?”

“Each,” Antoine shot back.

“Yen, then.”

“USD.”

Inagawa’s eyes narrowed. “That’s a steep price for just whores.”

“I doubt you’ve ever had any that were this compliant.” Antoine gestured at the girls. “Don’t tell me they aren’t the most satisfying sluts you’ve played with.”

Inagawa gave a bark of laughter. “True. They’re just gagging for cock.”

“Of course I’ll have your shipment of the regulars delivered for the normal price. But I will be able to also arrange for the additional twenty to be brought within the week, if you would so please.” He grunted quietly, spilling into the boy’s mouth, finally reaching completion. Without missing a beat, he continued, “They should all have a usefulness span of at least ten years. Of course, I have a few that should a bit more than that, maybe even double that. But they are priced accordingly. I’m not sure how many Japanese have a…taste for it.”

“Oh, there will be buyers. Trust me,” Inagawa leered. “If your quality is as good as you claim, perhaps we could have a little joint venture and have an auction house in the near future. I don’t mind giving you a percentage of the proceeds in exchange for the supply.”

Rinieri's eyes glittered, and he laughed, dark and slick. “I look forward to it.


	6. Pursuit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this took awhile. I'm blaming college. Anyways, let's get this show on the road.

Antoine stared unabashedly at Akihito’s mouth, the long length disappearing between the puckered pink lips and a sigh of pure pleasure followed it. “Good?” he asked.

“Very good,” moaned Akihito around his full mouth, a sound of absolute sin.

Absently, Antoine wondered if anyone could enjoy food with such enthusiasm as much as the boy in front of him, as if the whole act was sex itself. Although he supposed an argument could be made for the concept of consumption and taking in a foreign object into one’s body as being sexual. If he wasn’t as adept at reading people as he was and the younger’s blatant disinterest in him, he could have sworn Akihito was doing it on purpose.

“Not eating?” the photographer asked before taking another bite of his noodles and humming happily at the taste.

The businessman glanced at his own bowl of soba. He wasn’t about to tell the boy that he was simply targeting his weakness for good food. But he suspected Akihito was fully knowledgeable of his inability to turn down a paid for meal. “Not particularly hungry. I had a heavy breakfast, and I have yet to digest it all.” Instead, he took a sip of chilled _sake_ from his cup, savoring the way it eased down his throat like water.

Akihito shrugged. “Your loss.”

“Seeing you take such _pleasure_ is more than satisfying to me,” purred Antoine. He smirked as his lunch date choked in reaction to his emphasis. “As you probably have realized, I’m not very familiar with the area and where the best spots to eat are. Actually, I was only made aware of this restaurant thanks to a client of mine.”

‘ _Former client,’_ Antoine amended mentally. After all, the woman wasn’t going to be recommending anything any time soon—not with her tongue missing. The bitch had always been too gabby.

He continued on, “I would be very much delighted if you could perhaps accompany me to where you think the best dining is—on me of course. And we could bring some more like these to discuss?” He tapped the yellowed copy of _Slightly Out of Focus_.

“Oh—ah. “ Akihito looked slightly wistfully at the autobiography. He had misgivings about coming to lunch, but he had whole-heartedly enjoyed the conversation. Since graduating and leaving his sensei, he had not had a proper discussion on photography, and it made him greedy for more. “I’m afraid not. I’ll be leaving Japan soon for a job, as soon as the papers are processed. I’ll be away for a few months.”

‘ _And that won’t take long with Asami interfering,’ thought Akihito._ He couldn’t fault the man for wanting to get the three month separation over as soon as possible.

“Really.” Antoine remained relaxed, smile fixed pleasantly in place. The boy wasn’t lying. He would know otherwise, since he was such an abominable liar, judging from his actions at the art gala. He had clearly been lying about his curfew, but speaking of that night…

“That is very much a pity. Your lover must miss you deeply with you away.”

Akihito blinked. “Uh. Technology helps. Skype calls, you know. Facetime. That kind of stuff.”

“I’m surprised that he would let you out of your sight for so long. You’re a delight. If I were him, I would be afraid of someone snatching you away.” He reveled in the sight as the photographer blushed hard.

He continued, “If I were him, I would take time off to come with you and take care of your needs, keep you comfortable. You would never be wanting.”

To his surprise, Akihito frowned, disgruntlement written on his features. “My lover is a busy man. He takes his duties seriously. It’s irresponsible drop all your work to just go off gallivanting for weeks on end without good reasons.” A pointed jab at Antoine. “Besides, I don’t need to be coddled. I can do my job just fine without extra cushioning, thank you very much.”

Antoine lifted his hands in appeasement. “My apologies. I never meant to insinuate that you were a pampered pet. It’s just that I find you utterly captivating, and I would love to spoil you some of the finer things.”

“I get that enough.” Akihito averted his attention back to his food.

Antoine’s eyes narrowed. From what he could glean from the conversations, he deduced that the boy’s lover was another man, and an affluent one at that, considering Akihito’s knowledge of certain delicacies and indulgences that would be out of budget for the average citizen. He had been confident that he could wedge himself between him and his anonymous lover, but Akihito had been quick to defend his anonymous boyfriend and appeared to have no intention disclosing who this mystery man was.

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, watching his companion eat, although with less exuberance than before, and taking a few bites himself. It would seem that the competition would be a bit steeper than expected. He had originally thought that the prospect of a life of luxury would appeal to Akihito and that he could impress him with his affluence. However, Akihito did not display much interest in expensive things, and it looked as though his current lover had the means to provide at least a near equivalent to what Antoine could. It left the question, though. Who was Akihito’s lover?

“By the way, it escapes me, but who did you say your lover was? I’d love to meet the man who’s managed to snag your attentions.”

Akihito stared at him for a moment, seemingly taken aback at the non-sequitur. He opened his mouth and closed it. “A dirty, perverted old man,” he answered finally. “You wouldn’t want to meet him.” And Akihito rather the two didn’t meet each other. At all. Ever. Asami would have a conniption, and his ass would be paying the price. And to be honest, Akihito preferred it if he were able to walk the day after. In fact, if Asami caught wind of his little lunch date, he was pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to crawl past the bedroom.

Antoine feigned horror. “Are you being taken advantage of, Akihito?” he demanded, aghast.

Akihito’s large eyes widened even further. “Wha—no!” he spluttered. “It’s what I call him, but I don’t mean it like that. He’s older than me, and I make fun of his age is all.”

“Oh, is that why you won’t reveal who it is? It’s understandable if you’re a little ashamed.”

Akihito bit his lips, guilt flashing in his eyes for a split second. “It’s not that,” he mumbled.

“Ah, is it because it is a man? I suppose there is a certain stigma associated with it. Especially if one happens to be the catcher.” Antoine gleefully observed the whitened knuckles as Akihito gripped his chopsticks tighter. This was too easy. “Understandably, it’s particularly frustrating when the other socializes in more sophisticated circles.”

Akihito’s irritation flared up, but he controlled himself. Antoine had somehow targeted all of his insecurities, and he did not appreciate it in the slightest. There was no way he was going to let the other man demean his relationship with Asami, but he wasn’t about to tell him who he was fucking. That wasn’t any of his damn business. “I trust him,” he said, simply.

Antoine affected a wistful expression. “Such dedication. I envy him.” And he did. “I wish I could meet him.”

Akihito shrugged, face closed off. “Gentlemen don’t kiss and tell,” he retorted, tartly.

Clearly, he wasn’t going to disclose his lover’s identity. No matter, Antoine had other ways of finding out, and Akihito’s reaction to his barbed words confirmed what he suspected. His unnamed lover was of some rank. “Touché,” he relented. Seamlessly, he changed the subject. “I hear the Tel Aviv Museum of Art has a selection of Capa’s work. If you happen to be traveling in the region, you should go see it.”

Akihito’s ears perked up. “Israel? That would be an interesting place to photograph.” Previous discussion forgotten, he launched into praise over Robert Capa’s place in history as the world’s best war-photographer.

 _Easy,_ thought Antoine. Well, maybe not always. When it came to others, Akihito was far more reticent. It made things more challenging, but he always enjoyed a good game.

* * *

 

Akihito hummed softly to himself as he carried the groceries back home, relishing the clear skies and warmth of the sun at his back. By the time he came back from his overseas trip, the seasons would have changed, and there would be a chill in the air. But he’d be back in Asami’s warmth, and that’d be worth it.

His humming faltered briefly, as a tremor of unease lifted the hair at the back of his neck. Something was off. He peeped at his reflection in the storefront windows, and with a sinking heart, he realized that a good few feet behind was the same man who had purchased something at the market on the next cashier over at the same time as him. Akihito didn’t want to jump into conclusions, but his gut told him that he was being followed. He now regretted evading the bodyguard Asami assigned to him so early on.

Akihito slowed his steps and pretended to be interested in the cake displays, and on a different occasion, he normally would be. As he continued to false perusal, he saw the man also slow and lean against a pillar, phone out and preoccupy himself with texting someone. He shift the grocery bags, and set brisk pace, continuing to observe the reflections in the glass.

As soon as Akihito began walking, the man pushed off the column and sauntered after. Yup. Stalker. That confirmed. It. Akihito’s mind whirled as it tried to come up with a plan of action. He furrowed his brow. He didn’t like wasting food, but he doubted he could make a clean run for it with the heavy bags weighing him down. Even if he did, they’d end up damaged.

He surveyed the area. He was familiar with this neighborhood, and he would have the advantage if he acted now. Decision made, he gave a last forlorn look at the produce in his hands. By the time they hit the ground, Akihito was already at a dead sprint, startled pedestrians squawking and veering out of the way. Above the sound of his sneakers thudding against the pavement, he could hear his pursuer’s heavy tread. Deliberately entering the wave of people getting off work and weaving through it, he sharply ducked into a small boutique. He made his way to the racks and saw from the corner of his eye, his stalker race past. He released the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

He couldn’t relax yet, though. He pulled off a white collared shirt and snagged a pair of slacks, dropping them in front of the salesgirl. He flashed a bright smile. “Hey, can I buy that wig too?” he jerked his head towards the mannequin.

The girl gaped at him before recovering. “ _Okaa-san,_ someone wants to buy the dummy’s wig,” she called over her shoulder.

An older woman emerged from the back, assuming the inventory. She looked at Akihito puzzled. “The wig?”

“Yes.” Akihito scratched the back of his head awkwardly.

“I don’t see why not,” she said slowly, walking over and sliding the black wig off the male mannequin, handing it to Akihito. “¥1500, okay?”

“Yeah, that’s great, thanks.”

The daughter quickly rang him up, and he paid with his remaining loose cash. “Do you have a changing room?”

The girl gave him strange look and pointed to the back.

“Thanks.” Akihito hurried over and swapped his clothes with the new ones, stuffing the old ones into the bag. He straightened and adjusted the wig over his blonde hair. It was strange seeing his hair black again, but it was necessary. If the guy was still out there, he would stick out like a sore thumb in the sea of black hair. He would be looking for blonde hair and a bright blue tank, and remembering what Asami had told him, people only see what they want to see. And if the stalker was expecting to see Akihito blonde, that’s all he would look for.

He strolled out of the store with his new appearance, ignoring the mother and daughter stares. Almost immediately, he caught sight of the man who was surveying the crowd as he sipped from a purchased bottle of soda. He had figured out that he must have run past Akihito and doubled back. Akihito willed himself not to tense up and ambled past, easing into the surge of pedestrians. When the commercial street, splintered off to more quiet, residential ones and there was no sign of his stalker, Akihito breathed a sigh of relief and practically ran the rest of the way home. The change in hair must really have made a difference, he mused, and he wondered if he should skip his monthly visits to the salon to touch up his hair. If keeping his original hair color made blending in easier, it might be worth his fashion statement.

He made a face and pulled the wig off his head, and then promptly shucked off the clothes he had bought. The stiff material was dreadfully uncomfortable. Sighing, he contemplated calling Asami to tell him what happened, but he wanted to tell the businessman in person since he wanted to see his opinion on it and if it had anything to do with his less than legal activities. It would be harder for the man to avoid answering if it were face to face.

And it would be easier for Akihito to explain why he hadn't cooked dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At last check, the Tel Aviv museum really does have that exhibit.


	7. Everything Connects

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somehow I feel like this is more of a plotty filler. Ugh, I'm the worst. No smutty gooeyness here. But thank you for sticking with me and a special thanks to my frequent reviewers. You know who you are. Now on with the show!

Asami shrugged off his suit jacket, draping it over an arm. A finger loosened and pulled off his paisley tie in a practiced motion. Frowning, he made his way to the kitchen. Normally, he would be greeted by the smell of cooked food and the cook himself, but not today. And it wasn’t as if the boy was absent, seeing as the sneakers were haphazardly scattered at the doorway.

Leaning against the doorframe, he arched an inquisitive eyebrow at Akihito. “No dinner?”

“Hello to you too,” snorted Akihito, from his perch on the counter, snacking on a bag of _kappa ebisen_. “Welcome home. How do you feel about take-out?”

“I thought you were going grocery shopping today?”

Akihito set the bag down and hopped to the floor, folding his arms across his chest as he faced Asami. “I did. I was followed. Not one of your goons, either. I ditched the groceries when I ditched whoever was following too. Is anything shady going on with you again?”

Concerned eyes met Akihito’s. “You were followed?”

“Yeah, the guy was fucking persistent. The only reason I got away was ‘cause I remembered what you said about blending in, so I swapped clothes and stuff in a shop. I don’t think I could have outrun him, to be honest.”

Asami quietly assessed the boy in front of him and considered his most recent state of affairs. “You did well, Akihito. But in regards to your question, I have all matters under control and everything has been relatively stable. I do have enemies, but those of consequence are not in any position to start a war. Should anything happen to you, the repercussions would be far too severe for any group to warrant the losses they would inevitably sustain.”

Akihito’s lips quirked faintly in a grin. “So…that must mean I have a stalker because I’m so hot,” he joked, not really believing what he was saying. A niggling sensation of unease remained coiled in the back of his mind, whispering danger signals. In a twisted way, if the stalker had been a result of Asami’s less savory business transactions, he would have felt a lot safer. At least Asami would be able to pinpoint the problem and systematically eliminate it, but with Asami’s lack of knowledge on the issue, Akihito felt vulnerable in a way he hadn’t in a long time.

The two were silent for a while as they both measured the risk the unknown individual posed. Asami was well-aware that Akihito was not blind to how he had screened job offers to manipulate and steer the photographer away from life threatening news scoops and Asami’s business affairs. As such, it would be unlikely that the stalker would be someone out for revenge from being exposed in one of Akihito’s jobs. The unease from not knowing the motives of the man who had persistently trailed the young man infuriated and terrified the businessman at the same time.

Asami gently cupped the younger man’s cheek, tilting his face up and brushed a kiss against the forehead of that openly honest face. “Keep your assigned guard with you, please.” It was phrased as a command, but the entreaty tacked to the end softened it into a request. “If you are approached again, he will be able to handle the situation properly.”

Akihito hesitated before nodding. “Okay. It’s only for a few days anyways before I fly out to Dongguan.”

“I can send your guard with you,” said Asami, immediately.

The photographer made a face. “Don’t. I doubt I’ll be followed out of the country. Your goon will only get in the way.”

Asami pressed his lips together in a tight line of disapproval. “I dislike it immensely, but if you insist, I will abide by your wishes. But in the event that anything should happen, contact Fei Long. It cannot be helped, but while you are in China, he can provide aid sooner than I can. As it is, Dongguan neighbors Hong Kong.”

Akihito reached up and rested a hand at the nape of Asami’s neck, stroking the silky short strands of hair. “Got it. I’m surprised you’d be fine with Fei Long helping though.”

“As loathe as I am to admit it, but his…affections for you will be beneficial in this situation where I cannot be with you.”

A giggle escaped Akihito. “Possessive bastard,” he said fondly. Interrupting the rare moment of sentimentality, his stomach gave a loud gurgle of annoyance. “Oh.”

Asami snagged his phone and handed it to Akihito. “Go ahead and order something.”

A sly twinkle entered Akihito’s eye. “Even sushi?”

“Even sushi,” affirmed Asami.

* * *

 

“Akihito! Akihito!” called a childish voice, the Japanese lightly accented. Tao beamed brightly, enthusiastically waving the sign in his hands. Behind him a much more subdued Fei Long waved an elegant hand.

Akihito grinned back, hurrying over as quickly as his heavy luggage allowed. “Tao. Fei Long,” he greeted. “It’s been awhile. How have you been?”

“As well as we’ve been since the last email I sent you,” answered the long haired man, gesturing for one of the guards to relieve Akihito of his baggage. He turned gracefully intent on heading to the limo parked outside the glass doors.

“He’s been super excited to have you come back to Hong Kong,” chimed in Tao, conspiratorially as he fell into step with his benefactor. “He spent all of yesterday making sure your room was perfect. He’s taking the week to come with you to Dongguan and bought the tickets and everything for us already.”

Akihito made a face, while following Tao into the vehicle. “My funding takes care of that already,” he protested. “And what are you gonna do in Dongguan?”

Fei Long sniffed, settling comfortably in the leather seat, crossing his legs. “The accommodations I have arranged are far more pleasant. As for going to Dongguan, I have made several investments in the city. Unfortunately, the mainland government has been taking too much of an interest in the underground life, and I have lost a substantial amount of profit. That needs to be rectified.” He eyed Akihito, “But you already know that I assume. It’s the reason you are visiting, no?”

The photographer rolled his eyes. “Of course, you’d be involved,” he groused.

Tao tugged at the hem of Akihito’s shirt. “What kind of stuff are you taking pictures of?” he asked, wide-eyed with curiosity.

“The modern youth in the face of progress or development.”

“So…me?” Tao blinked up at Akihito, pointing at himself.

“Uhhh…not exactly.” The older boy ruffled the younger’s hair affectionately. “I’m trying to capture the effects and unexpected consequences that have arisen in the name of progress.”

Tao’s face scrunched up in confusion. “I don’t really get it, but okay.”

Akihito pondered for a second before lighting up. “Do you remember the protests against the mainland Chinese government a little while back?”

Tao tilted his head. “Yup. With the umbrellas. I walked with them,” he added proudly.

“A large percentage of those involved were college students. It was a backlash to the mainland’s government attempt to increase its hold on Hong Kong.” Akihito paused. “I wish I could have been there to photograph the protests,” he said wistfully. “It would have been a great addition to my portfolio.”

“It might not be the end of the road,” Fei Long spoke up. “Hong Kong has had a long history of British influence. Our people will not so easily relinquish our way of life and freedoms. We may have been returned to China, but we have long cultivated a different identity. We give our children both English and Chinese names. Our native tongue is Cantonese rather than Mandarin, and we write in traditional script instead of simplified. Hong Kong is as different as it is similar as the motherland. If the time comes when change comes, I’ll buy you a ticket back here if you so wish, and you can document it in its entirety.” He smiled slightly. “But maybe by that time, you will have achieved the success and ability to fly over yourself.”

An ambitious gleam of determination entered Akihito’s eyes. “Trust me. That’s the plan.”

Tao clapped his hands in delight. “Then you’ll definitely come to visit again.”

* * *

 

Fei Long observed his ward and Akihito animatedly converse with each other. Letting himself zone out, he turned his thoughts toward Dongguan.

He had told Akihito the truth when he gave his reasons for coming with him to Dongguan, but it was not the complete one. With the excuse of chaperoning Asami’s lover, he could discretely investigate the unease that was plaguing the underbelly of the city. In the past couple of months, an unprecedented number of young women and the occasional male vanished off the streets. Missing persons were hardly uncommon in the city bowels where all sorts of unsavory individuals lurked, but not at the current unexplained rate. As far as Fei Long was concerned, there had been no rumors of a new trafficking ring and he had moles everywhere. A couple of weeks ago, he had intended to contact his men planted in the police force to see if there were any patterns to the disappearances, but plans changed. He was now personally invested in the case.

The straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back was when five days ago, one of his men’s twelve year old daughter vanished without a trace. As a member of the syndicate, in return for his loyalty, Fei Long provided protection and security, and with the disappearance of the man’s daughter, his ability to uphold his responsibilities was being challenged. That was unacceptable. Already unrest crept through the citizens of the underworld, threatening to undermine his hold.

The only remaining course of action was to discover who had the balls to encroach on his territory and poach his people and deal with them accordingly—painfully. Contrary to popular belief and his threats, Fei Long was not inclined to participate in human trade. His workers were there by choice and were free to leave whenever. It simply was not his problem if they had no other means to support themselves.

Fei Long pursed his lips. He hoped to whatever higher being that may exist that Ting An-Jia was alive and intact. He could not afford to lose one of his best men to grief if his daughter had been methodically reduced to components in the black market organ trade. There would be no recovery, no manner of assuaging the man’s distress if there was nothing left to. At least in the sex trade, there would be, and wounds could heal with time.

* * *

 

Her head pounded an unrepentant beat in her skull, mouth dry and cottony. She opened her mouth to moan pitifully in discomfort, but all she could manage was a hoarse huff. Her eyelids felt heavy, the rims gummy and sticky. Cracking one eye open, she winced at the muted lights. With some effort, she carefully arranged herself into an upright position. The thin pallet beneath her provided bare cushioning between her and the tile flooring.

Creakily examining her surroundings, her heart sunk as metal bars came into her sight and her jumbled memories came surging back in dizzying detail. _Walking to afterschool class. A sickeningly sweet scent. Strange hands gripping roughly. Rumble of men’s voices. Crying. Oblivion._

Fear. She could feel it rising from the depths of her stomach, swelling into a crescendo, a rising tide threatening to swallow her whole. A terrified whimper escaped her as she hugged her bony knees to her flat chest, burying her face against the hard edges in an upright fetal position. “Daddy.” As soon as the word left her lips, she realized she wanted her single parent desperately, wanted his bulky tattooed arms hugging her close, safe.

A shadow fell over her, and for a moment her vision blurred when she whipped her head towards the opening of her cell.

“Looks like this one’s awake,” the burly guard leered in Mandarin, addressing someone just outside of her field of vision.

There was a soft yet authoritative clack of shoes that grew louder and louder as the unseen individual approached closer and closer until finally she rested her gaze on a tall figure clad in a sharp bespoke suit. Handsome, the stupid shallow part of her brain purred, but her rational mind and cerebellum both screamed predator. As she lifted her gaze to meet the newcomer’s blank one, a cold tremor sliced down her spine at the emptiness within.

The man’s sensual lips parted slowly in a cruel smile, baring sharp incisors. “Looks like it,” he agreed softly. “Time to play, pretty girl.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kappa ebisen- Shrimp chips (I think they are super yummy...but it might be an acquired taste)  
> Yes, the pro-democracy protests of Hong Kong did occur in 2014, and the cultural facts mentioned by Fei Long are pretty accurate if memory serves. Not that no one in the mainland speaks Cantonese; it's more a dialect found in the south around the Guangdong Province.  
> Fun fact: Dongguan is the sex/sin city of China but as of late, the Chinese government really has been cracking down on the red light district, so Fei Long really would have lost a lot of money. The horror, the horror!


	8. Shots Fired

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo, thank you so much for the kudos and reviews. It really makes my day. A special shout-out to jussani who wasn't able to review Smile and took the effort to comment on my other work just so they could review this one. I'm so incredibly flattered. And a big thank you, to Rekishichizu for catching a discrepancy in locations. I've fixed it! Serves me right for taking so long to update. I'm definitely bound to make more mistakes with all these names and places, so if you spot one, please call me out on it so I can fix it. Good luck w/finals to those who have it, since I just finished 'em. Clearly, I've been studying.
> 
> Alrightie, time for shit to get real.

The single discharge of a bullet echoed throughout the empty alleyway, the sound reverberating ominously against the damp, graffiti-covered walls, followed by the heavy _thud_ of a body making contact with the filthy asphalt. A ringing silence engulfed the perimeter as if it the world held its breath. A calm exhale and then measured steps walked into the night.

The gunshot having been reported by concerned citizens, sirens came screeching shortly after, carrying with them uniformed men. When they examined the victim, dread suffused their features, and the pair prayed that as the messengers, they would not be crucified.

But like all things in the densely populated metropolitan, the news of the murder spread across Tokyo like a disease, infecting terror to those who understood the implications and carried to the city’s neighbors in the span of mere hours. That very night Japan’s underworld and even seemingly innocent individuals clutched their beloveds closer to their chests, double checked locks, and prepared to brace themselves for the aftershocks.

War was acoming.

* * *

 

“ _What?”_

To his credit, Kirishima barely flinched at his boss’ barely restrained fury, squarely meeting the businessman’s burning eyes. “Morino and Kita were on duty and the first to arrive to the scene,” he said, grimly. “It’s definitely Saito.”

“And would you care to explain why the _fuck_ he was in an alley in Kabukicho?”

Kirishima swallowed hard at the epithet. “That remains to be seen. It is a possibility he was in Kabukicho to visit his current lover, but she had not heard from Saito in the past week. As for the alleyway, we can only presume he was lured there.”

“How convenient he winds up dead the day before negotiations with the Virgas,” Asami ground out. “Four years, Kirishima. _Four_. I don’t need to tell you what will happen if the deal with Cirillo Virga falls through.”

No, he did not need to remind Kirishima of the repercussions. The ever faithful secretary, he had launched into a flurry of calls and activities upon hearing the news in an attempt to contain the situation. Saito’s death had left a gaping, weeping wound in the mighty beast of Japan, and the bespectacled right hand man was hard-pressed to find a way to temporarily fill the gap. Five years ago, Asami’s administration had been at odds with the Virga family, which was in charge of the criminal business in southern Europe, over disputed territory in the Americas. Crippling losses were seen on either side. It had been after months of conflict that Asami had recruited the silver-tongued Saito, and the former UN diplomat quickly scaled the rungs into his current position within Asami’s inner circle, brokering agreements, orchestrating large-scale transactions, and securing alliances with a single-minded skill that would have done history’s greatest tacticians proud. And so he had courted the hostile Virgas, currying favor with the head, Cirillo Virga and finally bridging a tenuous partnership between the two empires. The upcoming meeting would have clinched a solid alliance and secured a weapons trade. In a rare show of trust, Cirillo had sent a quarter of a million dollars’ worth of assault rifles and custom handguns ahead. With the absence of Saito and no one as adept and trusted as the dead man to replace him, the Italian head would see it as an attempt to renegade on the deal.

That would not do.

They had invested four years’ worth of bribes, appeasements, and time totaling to at least 4.7 billion USD, and if the meeting in the next 12 hours did not come to fruition, they would be looking at an incalculable loss in the long run. It was originally expected that within a year’s span, a profit of at least 1.2 billion. But money was the least of their concerns. Not only would they lose a valuable ally, they would once again be at odds with the Virgas, and with blood in the water, Asami’s enemies would be on the prowl to sink fanged jaws at the first sign of vulnerability.

“I pulled a few strings to have Inspector Yoshino heading the investigation, so he will answer directly to us. As of twenty minutes ago, there have been no updates other than the killer had some professional training based on the clean shot through the heart instead of head and the weapon used was an UZI.” Kirishima grimaced. “Considering Israel exported quite a few of these, and over ten million of its variations are in circulation, that can be considered a dead end. The inspector is now scouring the area for witnesses and has men looking over the crime scene again for evidence missed. It is unlikely but the CCTV footage will be reviewed for any hint of Saito’s killer.”

He adjusted his glasses. “As for Virga, I decided on a straightforward course of action and alerted him to the situation so they have no reason to suspect deception on our part. Fortunately, he has consented to go forth with the meeting upon relocation to the Imperial Hotel. Suoh has increased the security detail and will be personally escorting Virga and his men to the designated location. Under normal circumstances, I would have transferred Saito’s responsibilities to his second-in-command since Fujioka would be the next most familiar with the intricacies, but in the event that this was an inside job, I relegated the position to an outside source who owes a few favors.” Kirishima placed a thick file in front of his boss.

Asami flipped open the folder and scanned the material critically. “Reynolds Yui, daughter of Colonel Reynolds. Lived in Japan for twelve years while father was stationed here before moving to California to obtain a degree in international law at Stanford. Came back two years ago to open her own practice. Twenty-seven years old.” He looked up and leaned back in his seat. “What makes you think she can handle hammering out the specifics of a job this big?”

“She’s a bit young, but she knows what she’s doing. It helps especially that she has a way with powerful men, considering she has a long trail of former lovers who could be categorized as politicians and CEOs even before she became of legal age. They all separated on amicable terms and vouch for her. I thought it might be beneficial to have a woman’s touch in the negotiations if you will.”

“I hardly think that Virga will be swayed by a pretty face. Even a particularly charming one,” scoffed Asami, skeptically.

“He will at least respect her. Few are as ruthless as Yui, and even fewer are as well-versed with weaponry as she is. Her father taught her well. Furthermore, I am confident in her ability to catch any tricks that Virga and his negotiator may throw without ruffling any feathers. What she lacks in experience, she makes up with quick thinking and diplomacy. She isn’t Saito, but she’s a close second.”

Asami looked steadily at Kirishima. “I trust your judgment.”

No more was said. Kirishima understood that it was his neck on the line, but he remained steadfast in his assessment of his niece. She would not fail them. After all, he himself had cultivated her.

* * *

 

_Ker-chak_.

Akihito tilted the digital camera, checking the shot. Satisfied, he straightened from his crouch and hopped off the ledge. The small back street of the entertainment venues opened up to the main road, and Akihito ambled down the street of HouJie, a town inside of Dongguan, relaxed in the familiarity of busy city nightlife. Lurid neon lights flashed in doors and windows while large electronic screens advertised services. The low thrum of music resounded in the photographer’s ears as he passed the KTVs, spilling out the intoxicated. The aroma of savory street food from various vendors tantalized passerby, making Akihito’s stomach rumble despite the hefty dinner he devoured barely an hour ago.

Succumbing to temptation, he flagged down a scrawny scrap of a kid who was wandering down the congested sidewalk, selling classic Shanghai saltwater popsicles for one RMB from a Styrofoam box hanging from his neck. Peeling off the white wrapping and tossing it in a cardboard box half filled with trash, he stuck the cold treat in his mouth, enjoying the paradoxical sweetness. Wisps of cheap cigarette smoke curled in the still, humid air and vaguely reminded Akihito of his lover.

He sucked thoughtfully on the popsicle. He had called Asami in the morning as he had for the past few days since he arrived in China, but today, he detected an undercurrent of tension in the man’s voice although he insisted that there was nothing wrong when Akihito asked. The thirty-five year old passed it off as business complications, but entirely resolvable. Still, Akihito disliked being unable to offer further means of comfort to the older man. He couldn’t help but worry about him, and a little voice in the back of his head said that there was more to what Asami was saying.

A muffled sound of scuffling broke his reverie, and his head automatically tilted to the side to pinpoint the source of the cry. At first, Akihito didn’t notice anything in particular before flailing limbs caught his eye. He started forward into the narrow gap between buildings, realizing it was a young girl, her arm in the grip of a wiry man.

“Oi,” he called out. He inwardly cursed his lack of knowledge of the language, but he plowed on in Japanese, doing his best to inject as much authority as he could into his voice. “Stop. What do you think you are doing with her?”

The man startled, temporarily loosening his hold. The pre-teen seized the opportunity to elbow her captor and run towards Akihito, sensing a lesser threat, and babbled a stream of chatter that Akihito could not make heads or tails of. Instead, he fixed his attention on the suspicious character who seemed a mixture of anxiety and anger. He raised his voice again, channeling confidence he didn’t quite have, seeing that he was at least half the other guy’s body mass. “I asked, what the hell were you doing? She obviously doesn’t want anything to do with you.”

To his relief, he was drawing attention from pedestrians with his loud foreign speak, people slowing down to peer into the poorly lighted crack to see what the commotion was. And it was enough to deter the stranger who abruptly turned away and disappeared through one of the side doors, the metal clanging behind him.

Akihito glanced down at his newest acquaintance and did a double take. He had originally thought the kid was female, but now looking at the other properly, Akihito was more inclined to say it was a boy, albeit a very pretty one with soft, almost feminine features. “Uhh…你好？” he tried. _Nǐ hǎo?_

The child stared up at him with wide eyes and then promptly launched into another burst of speech.

“Whoa, I don’t understand a word you’re saying, and I’m pretty sure you don’t get a thing I’m saying either.” Akihito shook his head and then proffered his hand, offering a gentle smile. “But I know someone who will.”

The thin boy blinked owlishly at the hand stuck out in front of him. He hesitated as if deliberating before taking Akihito’s hand carefully. Akihito breathed a sigh of relief, and with a free hand, gestured in a forward motion to let the kid know that he was going to be guiding them before beginning to walk. Without a fuss, the boy followed him. Sneaking peeks every once in a while, Akihito wondered what had been going back there. If he had interrupted a kidnapping, all the better, but if not and he had stuck his nose again into the wrong place, he only hoped that he wouldn’t get into too much trouble.

* * *

 

“I thought you were taking pictures, not picking up strays,” was the first thing that came out of Fei Long’s mouth when he saw the pair.

“I was,” Akhito protested. “But I saw some guy trying to drag him somewhere he obviously didn’t want to go, and he’s just a kid!” He pushed the person-in-question forward from where he was hiding behind his back. “I can’t understand a thing he’s been saying though.”

Fei Long narrowed his eyes at the trembling figure. “发生什么了？“ he demanded. _What happened?_

The boy stuttered at first as he explained before relaxing and falling into rapid fire pace. Akihito noticed a barely perceptible tightening of his fingers around the curve of the armchair. It seemed that whatever the kid was telling the long-haired man was affecting him. Occasionally, Fei Long asked a question, and at the end of the interrogation, he called for one of his men, relaying instructions to the uniformed man into his ear.

When the guard left, Akihito piped up, “What’s going on? Is he okay?”

“You interfered with a kidnapping, luckily for Yao Chen here,” he answered, unusually grave. “The intent was to sell him into a trafficking ring for prostitution. However, this sort of situation has been cropping at an alarming consistency. Yao Chen’s wouldn’t have even pinged on our radar normally since his kidnapper-to-be was his stepfather and his mother dead, which is of concern. It could mean a larger pool of missing persons that we are unaware of.”

Akihito raised a brow and could not stop himself from snarkily shooting back, “You mean you aren’t doing the kidnappings, ‘cause that’s one of things I thought you did for a living.”

Fei Long glowered at him, refusing to rise to the bait.

Akihito immediately was abashed. “Sorry,” he said, running a hand through his sweaty hair. Disgust laced his voice as Fei Long’s words truly sunk in. “But what kind of dick would do that to just a kid. He only looks about thirteen or so. Fuck, even I didn’t actually go all the way until…until Asami, and that wasn’t even on purpose.”

“It goes against our own moral codes,” Fei Long sighed. “I assume that whoever is in charge is solely interested in profits. There is a high price for young…toys, pure and untouched, easily malleable. The younger they are, owners will have longer to spend with them before they depreciate entirely. And then there are some sick fucks who take pleasure in destruction. It is a niche in the market that is rarely addressed.”

Akihito’s stomach churned at the unpleasant thought.

“I am a bit personally connected,” admitted Fei Long. “One of my best men’s daughter is missing. If what Yao Chen says is true, and his case is the same as hers, then I must recover her as soon as possible.”

He waved a hand at Yao Chen as a couple of maids came in with trays of fragrant tea and steamed white buns stuffed with meats or vegetables or sweet pastes of red bean, taro, or lotus seeds.

“吃，吃，吃，” he urged. _Eat, eat, eat._

Yao Chen ducked his head shyly and sat himself on a small wooden stool in front of the low glass tea table. “谢谢,” he whispered. _Thank you._

The two older men watched as the child’s eyes lit up at his first bite and within seconds, the meat bun was completely consumed. And another soon followed. And another.

“He eats like you,” Fei Long muttered.

Akihito shot him an affronted look. “Your point?”

The head of the Hong Kong triads merely rolled his eyes before schooling his features into a more somber one. “Yao Chen will be staying with us. My concern is that there will be another attempt to take him again, and since you were the primary witness, you’ll be considered a loose end. You, yourself, are at risk. I have my men searching for Xiao Yao’s stepfather, but if I’m right, he’s only a small piece of a huge network. I am afraid that I am going to have to assign you a guard to accompany you for your own safety. Please do not try to evade him.”

Akihito looked at him with dismay. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am entirely serious. Even I am not sure as to the extent of the problem, but it has been wreaking havoc in my territories and has only been spreading across the country. Understand that your safety is my priority, for my own sense of responsibility but I would rather not have your leashed animal come across the ocean calling for my blood.”

Akihito contemplated the request. “Then, at least let me help you, while I’m here,” he persisted. “I’m good at getting information, and I can get into places that you can’t. If there’s a kidnapping ring and I’m already involved, I might as well do something about it!” He waved the camera looped around his neck. He added slyly, “And I won’t be into shaking off your goons so much.”

Fei Long lightly flicked a finger at the tip of Akihito’s nose. “I guessed as much, you idiot fool.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cultural note: Often and especially if not close, Chinese people refer to each other by their whole name, surname coming first. Another is that Fei Long refers to Yao Chen as little Yao as he is older, thus Xiao Yao, xiǎo meaning little.


End file.
